Mind F*ck (7 page)

I’ve found a certain need…like a curse that’s the cure, it’s a hunger that’s never fed. It’s a kaleidoscope loop consisting of rails of coke, Summer Jackson and her delicious cunt, and Jackson’s Agency, pulling in the big whales. Sinking the big scores and making my motherfucking New York mark. And very, very little else.

The string of lies and excuses I hand feed my wife suffice and have continued to do so, thankfully. And if that doesn’t, then the ‘tinkering’ I do to her warm milk at night, spaces her out enough to complete the job. The bottom line is, she’s not asking questions and her hurt feelings are taken care of.

However, on the not so thankful side of things, it seems the more I fall head over heels for the new star of my affections, the more she pulls away and shuts down. Which, I must confess and say, I do appreciate—unless I’m driving around New York city like a mad man, high as fuck and circling Summer Jackson’s Manhattan apartment at three am. Making certain the reason she hasn’t responded to my texts or calls is because she truly is asleep.

Alone. And asleep.

And it’s on these nights, well after the guys from work have left the bar, and Travis and I finally call it a night and go our separate ways, when I can’t sleep. And I for damn sure, can’t go home. So, without Summer’s bed to accommodate me, and with the copious amounts of drugs still zinging through my veins, I usually find myself with one or more of Travis Jackson’s preferred list of escorts.

Lindy is whom I’ve chosen to replace Summer with tonight. Same curvy, tanned body. Same long as fuck, blonde hair. Only Lindy’s not as tight, which sucks. But so does she…and very fucking well.

My fingers knot in her stiff rats nest as the head of my cock slips past the ring of muscles in her throat. “Swallow.”

I grunt the word out as my orgasm tears its way through me.

And thank fuck, she swallows.

Then purrs, her words are like molasses as she speaks in her southern drawl, “Baby, I’m fixin’ to take a shower.” she scales up my slick wet with sweat body, licking and nipping my naked flesh on the way. When her full pouty mouth makes it to mine, her teeth sink into my lip before she speaks, “I’ll leave some room, you’re more than welcome...”

Before the drawn out ‘…come’ finishes leaving her lips, the palm of my hand is connecting with the smooth flesh covering her ass. “Seeing as how this is
my
penthouse, I’m fairly certain I’m more than welcome to anything, at any time.” My fingertips bite into her hips straddling mine just before I lift her completely from my lap. I toss a pillow at her before sulking towards the hallway to the master suite. “My wife’s hall is on the opposite side of this one, use her bathroom to shower. If you need any of her things, you may borrow them. I just ask that you return them, and if it’s her clothes, have them dry-cleaned beforehand.”

I briefly wonder if it’s exhaustion settling into our bones that makes us feel old, or if it’s just being old. Then I scratch the entire idea as it’s redundant.

But fuck, I do feel old.

“Your wife? That casually, huh? Does she even know you’re here?” I didn’t realize how irritating her southern accent was until just now. She almost sounds ignorant. And fuck, I had ignorance. After counting to three while glaring at my blood-shot eyes in the mirror’s reflection, I lean over the party favor leftovers from last night, snorting up a line and a half. Then I growl over my shoulder, “Does it matter? No. She doesn’t even know where here is, so how could she know I’m here.”

I see her blonde head peek around the double whitewashed doors. “But her things are here. And I’m supposed to return them in the manner of which I used them. So, why…that doesn’t make sense.” She sashays, still naked, into the bathroom before linking her arms around my waist and pressing the front of her body to the back of mine. I feel her warm lips press the skin between my shoulder blades, and the sensation of her mouth on my skin and the coke in my veins makes my cock stir back to life.

“Baby girl, if you’re looking for sense and sensibility, I suggest you search Jane Austen, and if you’re planning on making a living being an escort, you should learn to shut the fuck up. Now, you just lost your privilege of taking a shower, the next privilege you lose will be leaving with your whore costumes. How about you use that feeble little mind of yours and figure out what it is you should do next. I’ll even give you a clue: It doesn’t involve speaking. Or staying.” I smile at her sad face in the mirror. But only for less than a second, because the second after that, she is gone. And ten after that, I hear the front door slam shut.

I, however, have yet to move. Still, I stand, feeling now, thankfully, blessedly, nothing. Staring at a man in the mirror.

A man I don’t know.

A man no one should spend much time getting to know.

My appointment with Lexy and her OBGYN is in two hours. Summer comes sauntering into my office in the tightest, reddest, shortest dress I’ve ever seen. But it’s the six-inch black heels and her tanned curvy legs that had my eyes doing a double take.

“Where were you at last night? I know you haven’t been home a single day this week, Liam. I know you’ve been sleeping here in Manhattan, now I want to know with who. Because it’s not been with me.”

Her eyes pin to mine, and she does the cutest thing. Her hands, plop onto her hips and she begins tapping her toe. I chuckle around a cough, trying and possibly failing at hiding my amusement. “Baby girl, when I finish in the evenings, if it’s late and I’ve had too much, yes, I do forgo the hour and a half drive home to my wife. Yes, I accept the convenience of sleeping here in Manhattan.” After I’ve stood and made my way around my desk and I’m standing toe to toe with her, my hands cup her face and bring it up to mine. “How many times do I have to tell you, you’re all I need? I drove by your penthouse last night after we left McClearn’s. I circled the block four fucking times, Summer. Do you know how fucking hard my cock was? Do you know how much I fucking needed you?” My hands fist her hair and yank with more force than I initially planned on using. But the memory of me driving by last night. Looking up like a fucking idiot snaps something inside me.

Something mean. And dark.

“I needed you, you fucking little slut, and where were you at? Huh?” I growl, but not before biting into the flesh of her neck so hard I taste blood. I lick the barely broken skin, laving and suckling the sting away. I feel her body responding and pressing against me. My palms grasp at her breasts covered in the silk blousy material of her dress. I squeeze and pull until I feel the fabric snap and hear the buttons scattering across the hardwood floor of my office. Her hands  pull at my slacks,  fumbling with my belt buckle. After I have her offensive red dress rid of it’s buttons, I rip the sash from her waist and push her hands away from my zipper. Less than one second later my cock is free and my hands are circling her wrists and spinning her around, before shoving her face first over my desk.

I stand back, with one hand stroking my cock and the other still holding her prone against the desk by her hands pinned at the small of her back. I move the hand stroking my cock and place it on her ass, then I revel in the feel of her smooth flesh there, under my callous palm. “Dirty fucking slut. That’s all you are. MY little cum-slut. My little fuck-doll. Say it, Summer. Tell me what you like me to call you. Tell me your favorite.”

I move to stand behind her, and I don’t need to test her, I don’t need to touch her pussy to know how wet it is. I don’t need to rub her clit with my thumb as I test her opening with my index and middle fingers. I don’t need to because I already know how wet she is. I already know because I can hear it, every damn time she rubs her legs together. I align myself at her entrance and smirk when her wet thighs touch me. “Dirty fucking little girl. Tell me your favorite. Or I walk the fuck away. Right now.” I growl as I bit her bare shoulder and press the head of my cock in less than an inch, before pulling it completely out and simply sliding it back and forth. “Baby girl, you have until three.” I pull my entire front away from her back, only leaving us joined where my cock is between the her thighs from behind. I move back and forth, so, so slowly. “One.”

“Cum-slut, Liam, tell me I’m your cum-slut. Please, baby.”

Fuck. Why won’t she stop calling me that.

Tension wracks it’s way though every muscle and tendon in my frame, suspending me tight. After I’ve pulled completely and utterly away from her naked prone body, and I’m standing less than a foot away with my cock still out and still drenched in her wetness, where I’m at, what I’m doing, and whom I’m with don’t all click into place at once.

No, no. That happens when my office, my
unlocked
office door opens and Travis walks in. Then it all clicks. What the hell I was thinking though, never does.

I’m uncertain why I thought if I were to ever get caught with the princess of Jackson’s Agency, even by the prince, that there wouldn’t be hell to pay. I just assumed that since Travis and I were so close, and hell, he’d offered me his wife. Why would his sister not be fair game?

Apparently, from Summer’s reaction and Travis’, I’d assumed incorrectly. After Summer, somewhat adjusted her silk red dress back together with the sash around the waist, and I’d tucked myself away, Travis had come the rest of the way into my office and was currently shoving his pointer finger against my chest and his nose in my face, sputtering, “What in the hell do you think you’re fucking doing, buddy? That’s my goddamn baby sister! And you’re fucking married! She’s not fucking Lindy the escort, you don’t fuck her like she’s trash and then treat her that way after. She is educated. She is a lady.” Spittle flies from his mouth and lands, thankfully on my shirt. “You don’t fuck with ladies. At least not anymore.”

I can’t. The spittle and the rage, he’s too close for this conversation. I shove him back, but not with half the force I wanted to.

“Travis. Get the fuck back, dude. It’s over.” I pin my eyes to Summer’s and only feel a twinge of regret when her navy eyes fill with tears. “It’s over,” I repeat myself. Keeping my eyes on hers for a few seconds longer, then looking back at Travis.

I straighten my suit and comb my fingers through my hair then I button my suit jacket and smile. I glance at both of them but settle my eyes on him before speaking, “I have an appointment in less than an hour. It seems my wife and I are expecting our first child. Today we’ll learn it’s due date. However, I will be taking the rest of the day off. Travis, you have my number, if you need me.” I nod, then make my way to my office door.

Before closing the door behind me, I lock eyes with Summer. “Take as long as you two need. Good luck with your ad campaign this holiday season, Ms. Jackson. It’s brilliant, it truly is.”

Then I make my way to the elevator, and I don’t think I breathe again until I’ve pressed the button for the ground floor and the doors are closing.

I don’t know if I meant it when I told Summer
and Travis
, it was over. I don’t want it to be over with her. I just want her to wake up. If she wants this, then want it. Always. Not just on Tuesday’s and fucking Friday’s.

I can’t be half way in and half way out.

I just wish she’d tell me what she’s waiting for.

She doesn’t want me to leave my wife, but she doesn’t want me with any one else? That’s absurd. It’s preposterous.

No, when I said, ‘It’s over,’ what I meant was, this ridiculousness and absurdity, these games of hers. They are over.

And I’ll tell her that.

I’m in my town car and my driver, Drake is pulling out of the parking garage when my cell rings, “Dean.” I answer Travis’s call.